


Of Time, You Have Plenty

by Othalla



Series: harry potter in star wars is a thing and i'm doing it [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith
Genre: Gen, Master of Death Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 16:05:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5749504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Othalla/pseuds/Othalla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is five years old.<br/>The Temple is burning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Time, You Have Plenty

**Author's Note:**

> A plotbunny that kept popping up as i tried to sleep, not much more point to it than that.  
> [tumblr](http://www.tockae.tumblr.com)

When the attack on the temple comes Harry is five years old. That isn’t really something special to point out, Harry’s been five years old lots of times before and will be five years old plenty more times later, but perhaps the five years old part is the one that keeps making things extra hard for him when he tries to do stuff and go places. People keep trying to rescue him, lead him down other hallways instead of the one he’s got his eyes set on and then foolishly getting in front of him when the white armored men starts shooting at them.

It’s really inconvenient having people needlessly defend him. Makes it much harder not to mess up when it’s not just his own face he’s got to worry about blowing stuff up in. Especially when they happen to be quite good fighters, always knowing just the place to be.

Harry frowns. The woman with the two lightsabers in front of him reflects the blaster shots at the white armored men and some fall to the floor, hit, while others hide behind pillars and keep shooting. The woman catches all shots. She doesn’t go after them, though, instead stays in front of him and acts guard.

He is not defenseless, there’s absolutely no need for her to go out of her way to defend him instead of just taking the threat out directly.

He opens his mouth to say just that – or something like it, probably very sarcastically because he’s a really old man in the body of a five year old and everyone should cut him some slack – but just as he does _he_ walks in. Harry freezes in place, mouth stuck on open and his eyes widening just a bit.

Anakin Skywalker has always had many people following him. Everything from fully outlined shades to thick mists and echoes, whispering about who he is and what he’s done. They’re not ghosts. Not the way that Harry uses the term anyway, the one that’s stuck with him since he grew up that very first time.

They’re proof of a life taken, catching onto the soul of whoever cut their life short and sticking to it until they in turn pass on. They’re not even there, really, because they’ve moved on themselves. But the image of them remains. The memory of them. Crowding in behind their person.

Harry’s the only one who can see them. Comes with the title.

There are more people following Anakin today than there was just yesterday. That isn’t special, Anakin is a powerful Jedi and even on Coruscant those are not safe.

But they’re Jedi, these new additions. Masters and Knights and Padawans and _Initiates_. Following Anakin and not his armored buddies, clearly telling Harry just who it was that had murdered them when Harry had felt them move on mere minutes ago.

That is awful in and of itself, killing your comrades, but then Harry sees Sors Bandeam, and that just makes it worse. Not because Sors was Harry’s friend any more than any other initiate but because if Sors had the chance to talk about anything he’d talk about Master Skywalker. Always babbling on in his slight lisp about what a great pilot Master Skywalker was, how good he was with a lightsaber, how Sors just couldn’t help but wish that he’d be picked as his padawan when he was good enough.

Sors Bandeam adored Anakin Skywalker.

And now he’s dead. Anakin killed him.

“No,” Harry says and the world stutters for a heartbeat.

Harry isn’t a big follower of the Jedi teachings. He thinks it’s crap, most of it, but from what he can tell of the Sith hanging behind Obi-Wan Kenobi and the other Dark Force users that’s been killed by Jedi Harry’s met the Jedi way certainly is to prefer over the Sith one.

Anakin seems to think differently. Righteous as they come, believing his actions to be justified and not simply deplorable.

Harry steps out from behind the woman shielding him and goes to stand beside her. He clutches at her robes with his right hand, more to keep her there where she’s safe than because of anything else. If she’s next to him she won’t get killed by either Anakin or Harry himself.

This temple has seen too much death today already.

Anakin stares at him. The look is penetrating and Harry can clearly see that it would terrify most people, how it almost picks you apart because it doesn’t quite know how people work. How the temper behind them is not firmly controlled, lashing out wildly in sudden bursts that takes everyone around him with it.

It’s the look of a teenaged boy, raging against the world because it just isn’t fair and he wants _more_.

Harry stares back. He’s seen this look so many times before in so many faces that it doesn’t even make his pulse stutter.

“There are many things in this world that I can overlook, Anakin Skywalker.”

Harry doesn’t speak often where people can hear. The high pitch of his voice carries more with it than it should and almost everyone can tell. It makes them uncomfortable and on edge when he’s around, and then when he’s gone they wonder at themselves how messed up they must be to almost fear a child. It’s not a feeling Harry likes to install in people, so he takes care not to speak.

Sometimes, though, it must be worth it.

The woman he’s holding onto stiffens, just slightly. Anakin just keeps on staring.

“Killing children isn’t one of them.”

Before Anakin has any chance to do much of anything, Harry reaches out and pulls at the strand that connects the soul to the body, ripping it out by its roots. It’s easy for him to do. He doesn’t do it very often, but if he wants to it just takes a moment. Easy as breathing.

Harry is, if one were to consider it and know all the facts, the singular most terrifying thing in the entire universe. That used to bother him. It doesn’t anymore.

With time come lots of things. Harry’s just somewhat glad that it didn’t altogether destroy his morals rather than alter them.

Anakin’s body falls to the floor, a soft thump marking the end of his life and descent, eyes still open and staring sightlessly.  The white armored men stand in confusion for a second, looking at Anakin, at Harry, between themselves. Then they start shooting again and the woman takes them down by smoothly and accurately reflecting their shots.

The people that followed Anakin are gone when Harry looks away. Not free because they were never captured, but not visible to Harry again lest he wills it so.

The hallway is silent. Harry still holds onto the woman’s robe, small hand clenched tight around the light brown fabric. She’s not trying to get away even though he knows he scares her.

Being five years old has its advantages.

He lets go and starts walking at as brisk a pace his short legs will allow.

“We should go,” he says. “There are plenty more where those came from.”

She follows, quickly catching up to him. Then she reaches down and lifts him up by his waist, pulling him tight against her side as she starts running. Harry doesn’t protest; just moves his limbs to ease her hold on him.

“I am Jedi Knight Serra Keto,” she says. “Who are you, child?”

“Harry,” he says. “Just Harry.”

“Nice to meet you, Harry.” She runs around a corner at breakneck speed and they’re in another long hallway. At the end of it there are two white armored men that lift their blasters and start to take aim. Serra keeps running and reaches them before they can finish, taking of both their heads in one swift strike.

They’re out through the end gate before the bodies have finished dropping.

“That thing you did to Anakin,” she stumbles slightly over his name, “can you do it again?”

Harry closes his eyes. “Easily.”

Serra digests that for a moment. “You are young, Harry. Not even a padawan. Yet you can take away the life of one of the most powerful force users in the galaxy with what I sense was just a thought. Unnatural, most would agree.”

“Probably,” Harry says. “And still, it’s the most natural thing in the universe.”

They arrive at the main hall and it’s filled with countless of white armored men and a few Jedi that do their best to hold them back. They’re too few, though, and are starting to tire under the endless assault. Their feet stumble and their heads turn too late, just barely managing to catch the blaster shots before it hits them square in the face.

They will lose, soon, it’s apparent. And when they do, the temple will be lost and the Jedi will be lost with it.

Serra stops for just a moment, standing at the far end of the hall and not yet seen. “Then I guess the question is,” she begins, her voice unyielding and fierce at the sight of all the Jedi scattered around the room, dead as they come, “whether or not you will use it again.”

Harry smiles, a tiny little shift of his lips. Serra Keto is furious and betrayed, her protective instincts covering the entire temple. The perfect image of a hero, not backing down in the face of impossible odds because she has things to do and people to save. She will die gladly if that’s what it takes.

“I guess I will,” Harry says and rips out all the souls dressed in white armors. The world has too many dead heroes as is.

The Jedi gasp in surprise, lighted sabers at the ready as they hunt the room for the source of the disturbance and finds Harry and Serra standing in one entrance. They’re exhausted and hurt, focused only on placing one step in front of the other so they not fall. Harry thinks they’d be more fearful otherwise.

“You should have them search out the survivors, give them something to do before the grief sets in. There’s no more fighting to be done in this temple. Only healing.”

Serra nods, placing him back down on the ground and taking his hand in hers. “And we shall guard the front door,” she says, “lest more vermin wanders in.” Then she looks down on him and for the first time they meet face to face. She’s young, not been a woman all that long, with dark hair and blue eyes. Determination radiates from her every pore. “When this is done I will teach you to fight with your body and not with your thoughts,” she declares.

Harry pauses at that for a second before he smiles. “I’d be honored,” he answers.

He is older than dust. He’s seen empires rise and fall, people conquering new dimensions and nature always in constant transformation. The things he knows could fill all the corners of all the libraries in the world, and still he doubts it would be enough. He lives some men’s dreams and most men’s nightmares, over and over until the cosmos itself ceases to be.

He will never know everything. It’d be very boring if he did.

Serra kneels in front of him and places her hands on Harry’s shoulders. “Then I shall be your Master and you my Padawan.”

The stay like that for a moment, tethering their words in their bodies and the ground beneath them. And then the moment’s passed and the world keeps spinning, Serra rises up and turns to speak with the remaining Jedi.

Harry starts moving around the room, going from body to body, closing their eyes and whispering goodbyes.

“So, you’re the one who killed my apprentice,” Chancellor Palpatine and Lord Sidious of the Sith says.

Harry hums in answer. “Yes, I am.” He looks toward the House of the Senate, eyes seeing through walls and walls until they land on the remains of a man. His skin is sunken and grey, eyes a yellow that screams of sickness to all who sees them but the ones wearing them.

The Dark eats and its prey rarely notices it happening, too high on their borrowed power.

Palpatine glowers at him. Harry ignores him and goes back to his self-appointed task.

“But more importantly to you, Palpatine, I’m the one who killed you, too.”

Palpatine screams in outrage for the second Harry allows him, and then their link goes dead and silent.

Had Palpatine not made the contact himself, Harry might have let him live. He might’ve not, too, but when foolish Dark Lords comes knocking in his head by themselves the point is rather moot. Harry usually obliges and puts them out of their misery.

Easier for everyone that way.

Harry turns his head and looks back at the people following him and, there, at the end of the line, clear as day, Anakin Skywalker has fallen in line with his Dark Master in tow.

It’s a long line. Bound to get even longer.

Harry waves at them and smiles. Palpatine scowls and Anakin looks more relieved than anything. Death can bring so many different things.

Harry raises his arms and settles again against Serra’s side when she goes to pick him up.

“You alright?” she asks him.

“Yes,” Harry says. “We’ll all be, eventually,” and he looks away.

-

When Masters Yoda and Obi-Wan Kenobi returns to the Temple days later the Chancellor’s death is all over the HoloNet. They say that he and the four Jedi Masters that tried to save him were killed by the Sith, who later went and ravaged the Jedi Temple. It’s a good an explanation for the masses and the Senate as any.

No pictures of the Sith in question can be found anywhere. The Jedi did a good job on that, at least.

They burn their dead.


End file.
